


Familiar Faces

by harper_m



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-24
Updated: 2009-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harper_m/pseuds/harper_m
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not her fault. They're twins, which de facto means they look alike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiar Faces

“God, you’re eager.”

Katie’s first thought is a confused, _I am?_ Her second thought is a curious, _For what?_

She doesn’t ask either of the questions, because she’s _monumentally_ fucked up. She’d taken something, or, actually, had taken a combination of somethings, and now she’s not even sure that there’s really another person there who’s actually talking to her. She doesn’t want to be the girl who gets so fucking out of her head that she talks to herself at parties, but she doesn’t want to accidentally get a reputation as an anti-social bitch if there really is someone there other than her, so she just drawls a slow, “Yeah,” and hopes it’ll be both not enough and enough to satisfy each aim, respectively.

“I told you to meet me in ten.”

And it’s like, _fuck_ , but this person who isn’t really there is well fucking demanding.

“Bossy,” she slurs, and thinks that maybe she never should have come to this party. Who has fucking masquerades anymore anyway? They’re not bloody 9. She does look good, though. Emily had argued with her, probably wanted to come as a fucking political figure or tortured medieval artist or some other thing that was also not at all interesting, but things hadn’t changed so much that Emily was giving _Katie_ advice about parties and how to shine.

Marilyn Monroe, she’d finally declared. There weren’t any famous twins, at least none of consequence, and one Marilyn had been fucking brilliant so two would be even better. A pair of white dresses and a couple of blond wigs, and they’d looked so fucking perfect even Emily had shut up about it.

“But you like that, don’t you?”

Katie murmurs another vague, “Yeah,” caught up in thoughts of Marilyn looking at herself in a mirror and seeing something real, of the beauty of two of them face to face.

So, yeah, she’s got other things to focus on than the bossy non-person hanging about, so it comes as a surprise when something solid wedges in between her and the stone wall she’s been using for support.

“And do you know what I like about you?”

Because she really means it, Katie says, “No.”

There are hands on her sides, just above her hipbones, and they’re slowly sliding forward, fingers splayed so that soon her whole belly is warm from the touch.

“I like that you’re always ready for me.”

One of the hands slips further down, and then there’s only two thin layers of fabric between it and Katie’s skin. She gasps, the world spinning even slightly more than before when she realizes that the thing she is now fairly sure is a person has got its hand between her legs, and that its aim is uncannily on the button, so to speak.

“Fuck,” she mutters, the word harsh. Hot, open-mouthed kisses are being pressed into her neck, contrasting with the chill of her skin, and she’s shivering. She considers the possibility that someone utterly ridiculous is doing this to her, but then remembers that Emily fucked JJ, so whoever it is, it can’t be that bad.

“Yes, getting there.”

It nags at her that she knows that voice, that something about it makes her want to kick a puppy, but the hand moves down, finding the hem of her dress and slipping under it, and she forgets, sort of, just what it was she was thinking about. The kisses are becoming rougher, the use of teeth a little more liberal, and her laugh in response is throaty and low. This is just what she needs, she thinks, after all of the shit that’s happened. She needs to get high and fuck someone inappropriate, like a normal fucking person.

The voice is back, right beside her ear, and it pushes at her again, the familiarity of it. “This better, then?”

The hand slides into her knickers without any sort of warning at all, all long fingers on her belly one second and then on her clit the next, which is… Yeah, well, she’s certainly wet enough, and the fingers are quick and nimble and fucking brilliant, so even if this is all moving in a crazy sort of fast-forward, she’s not going to get overly concerned.

The hand that’s not making her moan is suddenly on the move, tracing up over her ribcage to dip into the top of her dress, and she’s pleased, because it’s well fucking time that someone remembered her tits. Especially someone with fingers this clever, fingers that can navigate cloth and find flesh like it’s some sort of secret, special talent. And they’re like the teeth on her neck, sharp and a little rough, and she wonders if maybe the now confirmed to be a person behind her is someone she’s fucked before, because it seems unlikely that some random stranger taking advantage of an opportunity could be this fucking _adept_.

She could hear noise from the party before, but now all she hears is a twin cacophony of harsh breathing and the near inaudible hisses, grunts, and whimpers that come with trying and failing to be quiet. Her hand flails backward, somehow managing to curl around the back of a neck, and she figures that whoever it is who’s driving her crazy is not so substantially taller than her since she didn’t end up clawing at someone’s chin instead. It’s a piece of the puzzle she’d be fitting into place if she was even trying to do such a thing, but she’s got no real interest in solving mysteries.

“Come on,” the voice says, and it’s rough now, impatient and almost frustrated.

 _Bossy_ , Katie thinks, though she doesn’t say it this time, and there’s something about that particular quality that reminds her of someone. She loses the thought again, though, and it’s replaced by a somewhat incredulous, _Fuck, I’m going to fucking come_.

It’s loud now, but some part of her is aware that the only sounds she’s hearing are the noises they’re making together, those of skin moving with frenzied skill against wet skin and strangled moans that make their way past clenched teeth. And then there are the noises she’s making by herself, like the near frantic acceleration of her heartbeat and the way her blood seems to be hissing and popping as it runs through her veins.

“God,” she groans, her body doubling over on itself. She hears laughter coming from behind her, but it’s a clear and happy sound, like the way she’s trembling and jerking is some sort of joyous occasion to be celebrated.

A second later and her support is gone, and she’s tumbling back into the stone wall behind her with an indelicate grunt. A curse is on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to flay whatever wanker has decided to fuck and run, but then she sees the sharp dart of movement. There’s a sound like gravel being scattered, and then hands are sliding up the outside of her thighs. A thumb loops into her knickers on each side and gives a quick yank, and they end up tangled and askew at mid-thigh. The hands are back, tracing up behind her knees and then, all the way up to the curve of her bum, and she can feel the bite of short nails, which is unexpected and different and more than a little good.

She’s formulating a thought about it, maybe a request for more, when her hips are pulled forward, and she almost loses her balance. It’s a bit of an awkward angle, and she has to spread her legs further apart to keep from falling, but apparently that was the point, because as soon as she does it, there’s a tongue on her, licking in broad, determined strokes.

It all comes together to make sense to her, and she grins widely because she’s fucking getting head out of this. Which, yeah, usually she’s the one giving it, and when she does get the favor returned, it’s never with as much effort or enthusiasm as she put into it, which makes it a disappointment all around. Or, at least it makes it a disappointment for her, because the few times she’s seen a bloke’s head between her legs, she’s lucky if it stays there for more than a few minutes before he’s looking up at her like he deserves praise and a treat. But this time, there’s, like, moaning involved, and it isn’t all coming from her.

She’s tempted to say as much, but it’s far easier to just wrap her hands in soft blonde hair and pull.

And, yeah…

Wait. _Blonde_?

She verifies with a quick glance down, and it takes a few blinks for her eyes to focus, to differentiate between the white of her dress and the platinum blonde hair, but now that she’s seen it, it’s clear. She tightens her fingers and gives a sharp tug anyway, focusing hard on the pleased sound the move evokes, and then yeah, it’s all so fucking, bloody clear.

The laugh bubbles up from deep in her chest, and she can’t quite manage to keep it inside, because there’s no way this isn’t dementedly fucking _perfect_.

“What?”

Naomi looks up at her, annoyed, and Katie laughs again, and it’s a sort of helpless sound.

“Nothing,” she says a second later, and presses down against the back of Naomi’s head because at this point, it doesn’t fucking matter. Her mind puts it all together, like a rubber band stretched too far that finally snaps back into place and it’s so fucking unfair, because of course Naomi would know how to get her off, wouldn’t she? And there’s no hesitation, just the quirk of an eyebrow and then that tongue pressing up against her again, and clearly they even _taste_ the same.

No fucking hesitation at all.

And it’s like, this is a _girl_. This is her sister’s _girlfriend_ , and it’s not her fault the stupid bitch can’t tell the two of them apart. They’re miles apart, or at least they should be, because as far as she knows, Naomi’s been fucking her sister something regular ever since they had their stupid drama play out for all to see at the Love Ball.

She tightens her fingers again, and she knows she’s pulling hard. She knows this has to hurt, but there’s no protest. Instead, she feels short nails digging hard into her bum and, if she’s not mistaken, Naomi just shuddered and, _fuck_ , this is how they get each other off?

And, no, it’s not the only way they get each other off, because the nails scrape up until they’re digging into the small of her back and then there’s something pressing into her, and her eyes widen because she’s actually getting properly fucked.

“Fuck,” she says again, her voice so hoarse it’s hardly audible at all. She has to untangle one hand from Naomi’s hair and slam it back into the stone wall behind her, because if she doesn’t she’s going to fall. She doesn’t understand how someone has the, like, coordination to do all of this, because things aren’t all moving in the same way and with the same pace, and there’s no way she can catch her breath. She can feel herself clenching, and she knows that her body’s tightening around Naomi’s fucking fingers, and it’s just _so fucking wrong_.

Something happens, she doesn’t know what it is, but it’s like Naomi’s stopped with the licking and started sucking instead, and the angle of her fingers changes in just that right way. It drives Katie straight out of her fucking mind, and she thinks she might’ve howled something just before her legs collapse and she just slides down the rough stone wall with no fucking grace whatsoever, no doubt tearing her dress to shreds and leaving her back a patchwork of scrapes and bruises.

There’s a luminous smile on Naomi’s face, and she looks at Katie like she loves her, and Katie thinks for a minute that she might vomit. But then Naomi’s leaning in and kissing her gently, so she stops thinking about vomiting and instead thinks about that. It’s kind of nice, even if she can taste herself on Naomi’s lips, so she lets her do it for a few seconds more before putting her hands on the other girl’s shoulders and pushing her firmly away.

She gives her a lopsided smile, because she’s trying to be a bitch but she just can’t pull it off, not with her whole body feeling like something amazing has just happened to it.“You’re good at that, yeah, but I still think you’re a stupid cunt,” she says almost fondly, wiping at her bottom lip with her thumb.

It’s kind of funny, watching Naomi’s face move from happy to confused to vaguely horrified to fucking insanely horrified. “You’re not Emily,” she says, like it’s an accusation, and Katie just shrugs, because she’s the one who’s known that all along.

“I never said I was,” she says lazily, because she’s given up on trying to be a bitch. She thinks she might take a nap instead.

“You let me…” Naomi trails off, nearly choking on the words.

Katie shrugs dismissively. “What, you were already down on your knees and well busy before I figured it out.”

Naomi just sort of collapses, hands out behind her to support her weight, looking more stunned than Katie’s ever seen her.

“How could you?”

“How could I?” Katie laughs, then rolls her eyes. “I’m not the one who mistook someone else for her girlfriend, babe.”

“She was going to meet me out here,” Naomi stammers, eyes widening.

Katie laughs again, earning a sharp glare. “Just, you should maybe think about cleaning up then, yeah?” she suggests, and she probably won’t find this at all funny in the morning because she can see Naomi’s point and it is well fucked up, but for the moment, it’s hilarious.

“Naomi?”

It’s Emily’s voice, hesitant and sort of hopeful, and at it, they both freeze. It hits Katie, in a vague sort of way, that what just happened could have monumental consequences, none of which are especially good.

“Yeah,” Katie calls out in answer. “She’s over here.”

The look Naomi gives her is sharp enough to cut.

When Emily reaches them, she looks truly baffled. “What are you doing?”

It isn’t clear to which of them the question is directed, but judging by the look of sheer horror on Naomi’s face, it’s up to her to answer it.

“I just got tired, babe,” she says, giving her sister a lopsided smile. “I thought I’d sit, and Naomi thought she’d join me so we could, you know, bond and all.”

Emily looks like she doesn’t quite believe her, but she figures that’s more because her sister still can’t quite picture a world where Katie puts any sort of effort _at all_ into being nice to Naomi.

“Everything’s okay?” she asks hesitantly, as if she’s expecting that this is a momentary détente, and that they’ll resume their massive catfight as soon as the break’s over.

“Oh yeah,” Katie assures her, shooting a sly look Naomi’s way, daring her to contradict anything she’s saying. “Just brilliant. We’ve come to an understanding, I think. Don’t you, Naomi?”

She thinks she’s going to lose it when Naomi looks at her like a fucking deer in headlights, panic clearly writ large across her face.

“Because we can’t change the past,” she prompts, hoping that Naomi will just fucking get it some time this century, “but we can always move forward, right.”

“Oh, yeah,” Naomi says faintly, the words the first hint that she’s still retained the ability to speak. “You know. Just move forward.”

Emily’s looking at them like they’re idiots, but Katie doesn’t care. It was, like, an accident, and she’s still fucked up, and now she’s come twice, so there’s no fucking way she can be expected to put in, like, critical thought about this.

“Yeah,” she confirms. “We’ve had our talk or whatever, so the two of you can fuck off now.”

Naomi’s up like a shot, her hand on Emily’s forearm as she tries to pull her away, but Emily’s still looking at her, concerned. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Absolutely fucking certain.”

“Because we can help you home.”

 “Ems…” she says, and there’s enough warning in her tone for her sister to back down.

“Yeah, okay,” Emily finally agrees, though she doesn’t look entirely happy. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Naomi’s face shoots straight back into paralyzing panic, and Katie can’t help it. She’s laughing so hard she doesn’t even see them leave, and the next day, when she wakes up sore in places completely unexpected, she tells herself that’s why.


End file.
